


How to Avoid Manual Labour

by facetofcathy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Community: mcsmooch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-06
Updated: 2008-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Portions of the plot (Ha!) lifted directly from the most slashy moment ever broadcast on television.  Set sometime in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Avoid Manual Labour

﻿"Explain this to me again Sheppard."   
    
"No, Rodney.  I've explained it to you so many times I feel like we're stuck in a time loop—again.  Get over it and get to work."   
    
"Seriously, we are painting your ex-wife's new-husband's dead-grandmother's porch.  How does that make any sense?"   
    
"Shut-up and paint McKay," Ronon growled from behind them.   
    
"Oh, no.  You can't do that.  Not after P4X 56Y.  You cannot intimidate me."  Rodney was smug and still not painting.   
    
"What part of, 'we will never speak of this again,' did you not understand McKay?" Ronon glared and turned back to his spindles muttering something that sounded alarmingly like Czech profanity.    
    
Teyla sat on top of the ladder, in clear violation of all the safety warnings clearly printed on the ladder in several locations, and worked on the ornate curlicues and carvings that encrusted the monstrosity he was expected to help paint.   How had all this Victoriana ended up in the middle of America and when had Teyla gotten so good at tuning them out?  She hadn't so much as sighed in their direction all afternoon.   
    
"You see, I clearly remember the horror of exile, cleverly disguised as 'mandatory leave'.  I clearly remember walking through the gate to Earth.  I even remember you, John Sheppard, dragging me bodily past the labs at the SGC.  What I don't remember is signing up for indentured servitude in Middle America.  Did you slip me a Roofie?"   
    
"Rodney, for the last and I do mean last time, Nancy did me a favour during that whole replicator mess—so I owed her.  Just paint something and shut up okay."  John gestured in a vaguely threatening manner with his dripping brush.   
    
"When did I co-sign this debt to your ex-wife?  I'm pretty sure I would never do that."   
    
"Paint something Rodney."  John took a step towards him.   
    
"No."   
    
"Paint something." Another step.   
    
"No."   
    
"Rodney.  Paint.  Something."  John was glaring down his nose at Rodney, who had perched himself comfortably on an unpainted section of railing.   
    
"No." Rodney said and he was smirking now, the big really obnoxious one; the one that John could never resist.   
    
He didn't resist.  He clearly didn't even try.  He just painted a stripe of bright white paint down Rodney's nose.   
    
Rodney had gotten over the weirdness/coolness factor of being able to cross his eyes and see the tip of his own nose by the time he was seven or eight.  He hadn't had cause to do it in years.  He did it now and could clearly see shiny, wet, white paint right down to the tip of a nose that did not, did not, did not, resemble anything to do with skiing and anyone even thinking the name Bob Hope would be dealt with accordingly.  He attempted to calculate the evaporation rate of water-soluble acrylic based coatings, reviewed the MSDS for the particular coating in question that he'd downloaded earlier and memorized—just in case.  He straightened his gaze out and looked up at John.  Sometimes science wasn't the answer.   
    
Rodney stood up, grabbed John's face with both hands and ran his wet, painted nose up one cheek and down the other, and crap you could cut yourself on that stubble.  John's eyes widened and Ronon snickered and Rodney could hear Teyla's eyebrow climb up and what the hell, he was in the neighbourhood.  He titled his head just so, admired his handy work for a second and kissed John softly, softly, not so softly.  John wrapped his arms around Rodney's shoulders and kissed back not at all softly.  Rodney dimly heard a paintbrush clatter to the floor, which was good he'd been a tiny bit worried about that and where had Ronon learned those catcalls and wolf whistles?  Rodney sighed and pulled John in a little closer.  With any luck there wouldn't be anymore painting today.


End file.
